The next morning the sun rose into a cloudless blue sky, and Mona found herself looking forward with pleasure to the walk into Kirkstoun. The road lay along the coast, and was separated from the sea by a stretch of yellow corn-fields. The inland scenery was flat and tame, but, after the massive grandeur of Norway, Mona's eye rested with quiet satisfaction on the smiling acres, cut into squares, like a giant's chess-board, by scraggy hedges and lichen-grown dykes.
They had gone about half-way, when a pleasant voice behind them said, "Good morning, Miss Simpson."
"Oh, good morning, doctor! My dear, this is Dr Dudley."
He lifted his hat and accommodated his long ramshackle stride to Rachel's podgy steps.
"How goes the rheumatism?" he asked.
"It's wonderful, doctor. Whenever I feel a twinge, I get the chemist to make me up some of those powders of yours, and they work like magic."
"That's right. You will give me a testimonial, won't you?"
"That I will, with all my heart. But you are surely forsaking Mr Ewing this morning? What will he say to that?"
"Even so, Miss Simpson. Fortunately, Mr Ewing is not touchy on that score. Your Mr Stuart asked me with charming frankness to come and hear him, so I am taking the first opportunity of accepting his invitation."
"I'm glad to hear it. You will hear a very different sermon to one of Mr Ewing's."